


By Blaster and Blade: A Tale of the Sith Invasion

by Reineke_Fox



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Gen, Gunplay, Jedi, Original Character(s), Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sith, Smuggling, Swordplay, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reineke_Fox/pseuds/Reineke_Fox
Summary: "Vulptex" is a small-time smuggler known for two things: his strict terms and his poor luck. When a trusted broker contacts him to transport a set of crates without knowing the contents, he bristles. But an empty pocketbook is a problem that's hard to ignore. Against his better judgment, he accepts the offer, but pirate attacks and strange, supernatural happenings convince him to break his contract and find out just what he's been asked to carry. The answer soon entangles him in not just a web of criminal intrigue, but in the fires of a galaxy-wide conflict that threatens to tear apart the Galactic Republic and civilization as he knows it.





	1. A Fool's Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place at the beginning of the Great Galactic War in the Old Republic Era. I am working with Legends and will attempt to hew as closely to that canon as possible. However, this story does contain OCs and I may fudge the canon when storytelling calls for it. I hope you like it and questions/comments are always appreciated. So sit back and enjoy!

Year 3681 Before the Battle of Yavin

Thalassia

“Synergy, this is Vulptex. I’m at the pick-up,” the man said, keying the holocomm in his hand  
The comm crackled for a moment as the signal ricocheted off a dozen terminals across the sector, each time making it ever more difficult to track. Then, the blue hologram flickered to life, coalescing into a strange, floating symbol.  
“Hello, Vulptex,” came a voice distorted by the cloaking software, “Right on time.”  
“Aren’t I always?” he replied, adjusting the veil over his eyeless sockets, “And where are you?”  
“Right above you.”  
Vulptex looked up just as a large tramp freighter swooped down overhead. Though he couldn’t see it per se, as an eyeless Miraluka, the Force granted him a form of sight all his own. The ship descended, touching down right next to his own on the landing pad. The thrusters on the old crate hissed and the access ramp practically fell open with a thud. He cocked a bemused eyebrow as he watched a pilot droid waddle down the gangway.  
“Syn, you sure this package is important? Cuz it looks like you sent an oil fire waiting to happen flown by something the Jawa dragged in.”  
“I have my reasons,” the symbol replied.  
“Could one of them be that you’re running low of credits?”  
There was a long pause. “You mean, just like you?”  
Vulptex sighed. “Go for the throat, why don’t you?”  
As the man chatted with his faceless contact, another pair of droids tramped down the ramp, pushing a very large crate sitting on a repulsorlift dolly. Beside it was a much smaller crate. Both of them looked very heavy-duty and locked up very securely. The man motioned for the droids to load the packages onto his own freighter. As the boxes moved past him, he noticed a strange glow about them, a glow he knew only his kind of vision could detect.  
“Hey Syn. Any chance you’re actually going to tell me what’s in this shipment?”  
“No.” The replied was startlingly brief.  
Now even more ill at ease, Vulptex pressed. “You do know what my terms are, correct?”  
“I do.”  
“And you know what I do when someone violates those terms?”  
“I do.”  
“Then why can’t I verify-?”  
“You want to take a chance? Go ahead. Open them,” Synergy cut in, the displeasure apparent even in his warped voice, “But if you’re wrong about what’s in them, then you won’t see a damn decicred. You reading me?”  
“Loud and clear,” Vulptex grumbled before killing the communicator.  
With the droids finished loading the goods into the cargo bay, Vulptex hustled the them off his ship, nearly closing the loading ramp on one of them for the sin of being just a bit too slow. He trotted up to the cockpit and flopped down in the captain’s chair. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax.  
However, the exchange with Synergy had rattled him. None of it sat well in his stomach, but Synergy had never misled him before. Strange as it might seem, many brokers like him had a surprisingly ironclad sense of honor, in their own illicit way. After all, the entire relationship between client, broker, smuggler, and recipient was predicated of trust. Still, he didn’t like unknowns. In his time, he’d smuggled many things. Food, spice, hardware, weapons, dirty money, even the occasional client who wanted to get from A to B unnoticed. Still, there were certain things he had sworn never to carry, and the fact that he couldn’t yet verify the packages’ contents made him uneasy. But in the end, he needed credits and he needed more than just a funny feeling to risk losing that big a payday.  
He did his best to shake the misgivings out of his head and lifted off. Angling the nose upward, he gunned the throttle and the ship shot spaceward. Soon, he was beyond the atmosphere and the gravity generators kicked in. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been taking only half-breaths since he’d touched down on the surface. Places like Thalassia had a habit of doing that to him.  
The system was just off the major hyperspace route known as the Hydian Way, and yet it was just as much a backwater as any in the Outer Rim. And worse still, it was known for one thing and one thing only: slaving. The word alone made his skin crawl. Mercifully, Synergy had chosen a rendezvous point away from the auction yards, but even still, he had to listen to the distant calls of the auctioneers’ loudspeaker. Species, gender, age… starting bids. It turned his stomach.  
It didn’t take long for the planet to recede into the distance, eventually disappearing altogether. Then, all that surrounded him was the star-speckled black of space. For most people, the empty void would have been unsettling, but to Vulptex, it was as near to a home as he’d had in a very long time. He stared out at it for a moment, seeing the stars flickering in his vision like uncountable candles.  
He turned to his console and began punching coordinates into his navicomputer. Even though the trade spine of the Hydian Way just barely a jump away, he couldn’t risk taking such a heavily-traveled route, monitored as it was by the Galactic Republic. He’d have to take a much more circuitous route if he were to remain undetected. With the coordinates for the first leg of his journey inputted, he pulled back on the stick. The pinprick stars before him stretched out into long beams of light.  
The black of space was replaced by the wavering blue of hyperspace. It would be a while before he reached the first waypoint, so he decided to unwind. Heading back to his cabin, he slid the blaster out of his shoulder holster and checked it over idly. The power cell was still fully charged. Setting it down, he peeled off his clothing and clicked open the door to the refresher. A quick shower felt good on his tense body and it was great to not be able to smell himself anymore. He traced the myriad scars that pocked his body, a memory flashing through his mind as his finger found each one. A near-miss blaster shot, a rather painful flesh wound from a vibro-dagger, even a long, sinuous mark left by a neuronic whip. Every smuggler had battle scars, but he’d acquired more in the relatively short span of his career than he ought to have. More than a few of those scars were the result of his own thick-headed mistakes. As such, he had acquired a less than stellar reputation among smuggling circles. That, coupled with his rather restrictive terms of service, had meant that he wasn’t exactly raking in the credits.  
Vulptex turned off the water and dried off quickly. Pulling on an old pair of pants, he flopped back onto his bed and put his hands behind his head. The ceiling over his bunk was plastered with posters and printouts of all kinds of spacecraft; fighters, racers, transports, even a massive Republic cruiser. All of them were personal favorites and all of them were well beyond his ability to afford. Still, it was nice to dream.  
He closed the eyes of his mind, letting his vision subside until all was black. A nap would do his nerves good, he reasoned, and it would be many hours before he dropped out of hyperspace. With a yawn, he tried to relax. He rolled to one side, then the other. He tried splaying out on his back. He tried laying on his front. Somehow, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. An old trick – reciting as many Outer Rim planets as he could remember – didn’t lull him off to sleep as it normally did.  
“Guh! C’mon! What is with me today?” he groaned, finally conceding defeat.  
A nap now thoroughly out of the question, he rose from bed and exited the cabin. Then, in the middle of the hallway, he paused. He could go back to the cockpit, he thought. There had to be something on the HoloNet that would be at least slightly distracting. But slowly, irresistibly, he turned towards the rear of the ship and the ladder that led to the cargo hold. The temptation was ultimately too much to resist.  
The hold was quiet as he clicked on the overhead lights – quiet, and almost completely empty, save for some personal consumables and the mysterious crates. He stared at them a moment. It was faint, but the glow he’d noticed before still remained. Whatever was inside the boxes, they were imbued with the Force in some way.  
“Jedi artifacts, maybe?” he mumbled to himself as he inspected the cargo from all sides, “Would definitely explain why the client is so hush-hush.”  
It would also explain why the price tag on this job was so high. Dealing in anything Jedi-related was incredibly risky business. Outrunning or outgunning Republic Customs enforcement was one thing; by no means simple, but far from impossible for a smuggler who knew his stuff. Once a Jedi was on the trail, however, it was better to give up without a fight and hope they just confiscated the contraband. Now Vulptex really wanted to know what was inside.  
Inspecting the electronic locking mechanism, he found that it was the most robust bit of security software he’d ever encountered. Not only was it damn near tamper-proof, any attempt to ‘pick the lock’ would be readily apparent upon delivery. Vulptex sighed. It would seem his curiosity would go unsated.  
Back up to the cockpit he climbed. The navicomputer ticked off yet another few lightyears on the set path. Settling in, he flipped on the HoloNet receiver and tuned it to “Ak’ro’s Classic Auction”, the galaxy’s most famous auction house, or so the Mon Calamari who ran it claimed. Vulptex was just in the nick of time, too, as the rather boring jewelry and art auctions were just coming to an end. After that came the starship auctions and that wasn’t something he was about to miss.  
“Now I can hear you gearheads out there yelling ‘get on with it’!” the fish-eyed auctioneer said, “Well it’s time to see what we’ve got on the auction block today!”  
Behind him, the curtain rose, revealing a beautiful ship. Long, bullet-nosed, and clad in glimmering chromium, the ship was an absolute masterpiece. His mouth watered. The camera switched to the interior. The salon was incredible – every seat upholstered with the finest bantha leather. The wall paneling was vanished kordas wood and accented with polished electrum. Everything was handcrafted, right down to the pilot’s control yoke.  
“You can see this isn’t your run-of-the-mill, stock H-type Nubian star yacht. This beauty has a custom designed interior that would make even the Queen of Naboo herself blush. Absolutely no expense was spared,” the auctioneer said as the camera panned to the wide-eyed bidders in the audience, “But that’s not all, folks! This ship is a queen in the cabin, but under the access panels, she’s an absolute beast. Fully-upgraded sublight thrusters and a 0.7-class hyperdrive means this noble lady can get up and go with the best racers out there! Now let’s start the bidding at 450,000 credits.”  
The crowd was soon abuzz as the price skyrocketed. The Miraluka couldn’t take his eyes off the yacht. To be that rich, he thought, must be amazing. And here he was, with barely two credit chips to rub together, running a possibly dangerous bit of cargo halfway across the galaxy for a paycheck that wouldn’t even have covered the auctioneer’s fees on that ship. When the hammer finally fell on the yacht, it had amassed a stunning 734,000 credit price tag. Seeing that much money on screen made his stomach churn with envy, so he shut the HoloNet down before envy could turn to anger.  
The hours passed in boredom until the navigation system dropped the ship out of hyperspace just over the jungle-choked planet of Felucia. A quick scan showed no Republic presence in the vicinity, so he began to recycle the hyperdrive, preparing for the next leg.  
Propping his legs up on the console, he tore open a ration packet. The grey-brown bar within didn’t look particularly appetizing and tasted about as good as it looked, but a few bites in and the rumbling in his stomach had faded.  
“Out…”  
Vulptex nearly toppled out of his seat. Scrambling to his feet, he looked around the cockpit, heart pounding, looking for the source of what he could have sworn was a voice. He held his breath, fearing that even that tiny sound could conceal the approach of a possible assailant. However, the ship was silent as a crypt.  
“Great. Now I’m hearing things,” he muttered, turning back to the cockpit.  
He returned to programing the navicomputer with his next waypoint, but his pulse was still thumping in his ears.  
“Out!”  
Vulptex spun around, his blaster leaping from its holster.  
“Who’s there? Show yourself!” he barked.  
There was no reply. This time, however, he did not return to his post. Something was off, though he could hardly guess what. Finger wrapped firmly around the trigger, he crept towards the hold. He dropped down the access shaft without touching a single ladder rung, rolling into a firing stance. As he looked around, nothing in the hold seemed amiss. But as he looked closer, he noticed the large crate was giving off a brighter glow than before. It wasn’t much, but it was noticeable. He reached out hesitantly and scooted towards as if it were going to lunge at him. His fingertips barely grazed the cold, metal surface.  
“OUT!”  
The violence of the outburst sent him crashing to the floor. His heart was trying to bash its way out through his ribs. There was no mistaking it; the voice was coming from within the box. But what startled him even more was that he hadn’t heard the voice with his ears. Whatever was in there had cried out into his mind.  
That settled it. Payday be damned; he was finding out what was inside those crates. The locks would still prove to be a formidable challenge. There was no way he was going to be able to get past them himself. Thankfully, he knew a good slicer and more importantly, a good slicer who owed him more than a few favors. He practically sprinted back to the cockpit and cleared the half-finished navigation path. He quickly punched in the new coordinates.  
“Next stop, Toydaria,” he said as he checked the hyperdrive cycling process.  
Suddenly, his entire field of vision was filled with a massive cruiser as it blinked out of hyperspace right in front of him. He barely had time to jerk back on the stick and swoop over its prow, the Swiftsure’s underside scraping along its plated hull. As he tore past, he saw six large eyes painted on the cruiser’s nose. His heart nearly stopped. That paintjob could only mean one thing: Captain Queeg  
In a panic, he gunned the throttle, attempting to put as much distance between him and the pirate vessel as he possibly could. He swooped between the bridge spires and towards the thrusters. Just a little farther and he could make the jump to hyperspace. Then, the Swiftsure came to a violent halt, nearly throwing Vulptex from his seat.  
“What the hell?”  
He felt the ship begin to move backwards.  
“No no no!”  
The pirate frigate had him in its tractor beam and was slowly reeling him in. With little chance of escaping the beam’s invisible grip, the man sprinted to his cabin. From beneath the bunk, he pulled out a box of odds and ends. He dumped it out and fished through the useless debris until he found the polished silver sphere. Stuffing the thermal detonator into his pouch, he returned to the cockpit just as the jaws of the frigate’s hangar slammed shut.  
All was quiet at first. Then, he heard people hustling outside. Peeking out, he saw a half dozen pirates stalking towards his ship. He racked his brain, trying to come up with a plan. A hundred possibilities flashed through his mind like a nest of hornets. None of them were particularly good. Then, something caught his eye. One of the pirates had a tool belt and it was overflowing with all kinds of spanners and drivers and cutters. Vulptex recognized them immediately as the tools of a spacer who spent most of his time working on a reactor. A little smile crept across his lips. He had a plan.  
“We know you’re in there, Vulptex!” one of the brigands shouted, “Open your hold and come out with your hands up!”  
He did nothing. That certainly aggravated the pirate.  
“I’m giving you to the count of three and then we’re blasting your tin can wide open! One!”  
Vulptex readied his blaster and grenade.  
“Two!”  
He crouched in the shadows.  
“Three!”  
He jammed the button and the cargo door groaned. As it rose, he watched as three of the cutthroats ducked under it and into the dim. The reactor engineer was one of them. With his prey now in the jaw of the trap, he decided to spring it. He pressed the door controls again, causing the doors to drop and the hold to be plunged into darkness.  
“What the hell?” one of the pirates yowled.  
“Come out, you nerf-humping sleemo!” roared another.  
Vulptex smirked. Though the dim blinded his foes, his own Miraluka Force sight left him perfectly able to see them. In a flash, he was upon them, battering down on them with fists and pistol whips. Blaster shots went wild, illuminating the hold with brief flashes of red light. In the melee, the man activated the timed detonator and slipped it into the reactor-junky’s belt pouch. His mission accomplished, he backed off and hit the lights. The pirates hissed as the glow assaulted their eyes, but when their vision returned, they saw the smuggler standing in the middle of the hold, blaster at his feet and hands in the air.  
“Okay okay! You got me,” he said, “I give. I give.”  
A punch to the stomach buckled him and a few kicks and stomps rained down on him before another pirate, presumably a ranking member of the crew, stepped forward and called the beating to an end.  
“Take him to the Captain and get the packages out. Then get back to your posts!”  
Vulptex groaned as he was hauled to his feet and pushed forward. He staggered a bit, his bruised body still throbbing, but he complied. As he was led away, he looked back over his shoulder. Both crates were loaded onto hover-carts and whisked away, presumably to the storage area deeper in the ship. The reactor engineer wandered off as well, taking his newly-acquired ‘payload’ towards the core. He smiled. Now it was just a matter of talking his way out of getting killed.  
Soon, the smuggler found himself on the bridge. The crew was about as grizzled and hard-jawed as one could imagine. The disgust in the air was palpable as all eyes turned to him. He swallowed hard and glanced down at the tiny display on his wrist comm, watching the little timer count down. Suddenly, a loud thwack split the air and Vulptex flinched. Looking up, he was face to face with Captain Queeg. The Harch male stalked towards him, two of his three pairs of arms clasped behind him. The other pair was crossed across his chest. Six, red eyes scrutinized him and Queeg’s arachnid mandibles quivered and clicked.  
“Captain Queeg!” Vulptex said, putting on as convincing a show as he could, “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, though I’m always glad for the opportunity.”  
“Ah, Vulptex. Turning on the ‘charm’ early, I see,” Queeg replied, his voice trailing off into a series of chittering clicks.  
“Just doing my best to be a good guest.”  
“By slugging my men?”  
Vulptex chuckled awkwardly, “Well, that was before I knew they were your men.”  
“I see,” the Harch replied, stroking one of his mandibles.  
“Captain!” From behind them, one of Queeg’s crew came trotting up. “We’ve secured the packages in the cargo bay.”  
“Good,” Queeg said, his mouthparts shifting into what Vulptex assumed was a grin.  
“Captain Queeg, if I may,” the smuggler cut in, “Why did you come after me and my package? Surely someone of your power and reputation has better, more profitable things to do than shaking down two-bit hoods like me for pocket change.”  
“My reasons are my own, worm.”  
“But sir,” Vulptex protested, “You’ve got the biggest, most heavily-armed ship in the sector. You’ve got a crew that rivals most Republic Navy cruisers. You’ve got contacts. You’ve got clients. I bet, in a single haul, you rake in credits in the seven digits.”  
“On a bad day,” the captain chattered.  
“Exactly! You’re the premier pirate in this part of the Outer Rim, so why waste your time sniping my goods, which wouldn’t even cover the cost of fuel it took you to pounce on me from hyperspace.”  
He glanced down at the timer. Only a little longer, now.  
“Your prodding is beginning to try my patience. Keep it up and I’ll have you spaced.”  
Vulptex held up his hands, “I didn’t mean any offense. I guess I just can’t wrap my head around all this.”  
“You couldn’t wrap your head around taking a leak without pissing down your leg.”  
The bridge crew broke out into fits of laughter.  
“I suppose I deserved that. But you know, Captain, people say I’m bad luck. And that I tend to bring my bad luck with me wherever I go. Might not be a good idea to keep me or my cargo on your ship. Something could happen.”  
The timer read 30 seconds. Just a little more time and that detonator would go off in the ship’s reactor core and plunge the whole ship into powerless darkness. He couldn’t resist needling the arachnid just a bit more. Then, he heard footsteps running up behind him.  
“You called for me, Captain?”  
Vulptex looked over his shoulder just in time to see the reactor engineer come running into the bridge. The smuggler’s heart dropped into his stomach as he looked at the timer. 10 seconds.  
“Oh no…”  
As pirate stepped to the center of the room and the last seconds ticked off the fuse, Vulptex threw himself to the floor, curling up defensively. The explosion that followed was more powerful than he had expected. The thermal grenade’s blast vaporized the reactor-junky and the group of men that surrounded him. Queeg, the guards, and Vulptex himself mercifully remained outside the bomb’s kill zone, but the shockwave sent them flying like children’s toys. Lights shattered, drowning the bridge in darkness as red alarms began blaring. He staggered to his feet, dazed, but unharmed. His plan had once again blown up in his face – quite literally, this time. But if his skills at planning left much to be desired, he was far better at improvisation. Dashing through the smoke, he relieved one of the battered spacers of his blaster rifle and made his escape into the bowels of the cruiser.  
All throughout the ship, alarms were blaring. Pirates scurried about in a panic, some heading for the bridge to answer Queeg’s angry roars over the intercom. Vulptex kept to the shadows as best he could. First order of business was finding the cargo hold. After everything he’d been through, he was not about to let Queeg get away with sniping his goods. The ship had been heavily modified, but he still had a basic idea of the layout of the original frigate. The holds would be on the lowest decks, near the hangars. Unfortunately for him, the bridge was about as far away from there as he could possibly be. Still, he’d been handed an opportunity and with talking his way out of trouble long gone, he moved on.  
Through the corridors and down elevators he slinked, ducking into empty rooms or maintenance closets when any foes came too close. It was only a matter of time, however, before he ran out of hiding spaces. Up ahead, he spotted a group of well-armed and very angry cutthroats bearing down on him. Pressing himself flat in the crevice between two columns, he desperately searched for a way to escape. No doors. No side passages. Nothing. He swallowed on the lump in his throat. He could hear their footsteps getting louder, closer. He gripped his blaster. Could he take on that many men alone? He doubted it, but what choice did he have? They were bearing down on him, perhaps only a few feet away. Pressing back into the crevice even more, his heel brushed against something. Looking down, he spotted a grate near the base of the wall. A ventilation shaft! The vent was small, but he figured he could fit if he tried. He knelt down and yanked the grating free and began squeezing his body in.  
“I heard something over here…” said one of the pirates.  
They were practically on top of him! Desperately, he sucked in his stomach and wriggled the last of himself into the shaft. He didn’t even have time to replace the grate before he scrambled through the shaft, worming his way along as fast as he could.  
“He’s in the vents!”  
The voice was far behind him now. Vulptex had managed to evade death, for the moment at least. Now, he had to get to the hold as quickly as possible, before they had a chance to nail down his location. The shaft was narrow, too narrow for him to do anything but belly crawl. He did his best to recall the schematics in his mind, but he still had to stop now and then to check his position through grates. He was getting closer.  
Then, up ahead, he heard a familiar hum. The reactor! Peeking through the vent cover, he saw a pair of men guarding it. He quietly slid the cover aside and took aim with his blaster. The first shot caught one of them square in the chest, knocking him down the reactor shaft. The second man returned fire, showering Vulptex with near-miss sparks. The pair exchanged half-aimed shots until the smuggler felt the shaft beginning to give way beneath him.  
“No no!” he cried as the final bolts gave way and he tumbled down onto the reactor walkway with an agonizing thud.  
The spacer chuckled as she stalked up to Vulptex, rifle trained on him.  
“Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this,” he hissed as she stood over the smuggler.  
“I doubt it!” Vulptex said, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.  
The pirate raised his rifle to fire, but in that moment, he made a crucial mistake – he took his eyes off Vulptex’s hands. The smuggler lunged forward, wrapped his fingers around the man’s ankle and tugged. The spacer staggered back and fell, the blaster skidding away. In a flash, Vulptex was on top of him, raining fists down on his face until blood poured from his nose. The man struck back, clawing at the Miraluka’s face, attempting to gouge out his eyes, but finding only empty sockets. The bare-knuckle brawl rolled back and forth, each man giving as much as he got until the floor was speckled with blood. The pirate managed to wrap his hands around Vulptex’s neck and began to squeeze. The smuggler tried to throw the man off of him, but his weight was too much. He tried to wheeze more air into his lungs. He trashed about, grasping for anything he could find, but with his blaster beyond his reach, hope began to fade with his vision. In desperation, Vulptex grabbed the man’s belt and with the last of his strength, heaved the man off of him and over the edge of the reactor platform. The man’s shrieks quickly died away as he plummeted into the abyss.  
Vulptex was a coughing, bloodied mess, but he was alive. He staggered up to the reactor console and began opening every fuel channel he could, pouring energy into the core. Alarms screamed as the core began to build towards meltdown. His job done, he limped back to the vents and dragged himself back inside. As he wormed his way along, he tried to gather his thoughts. He had to be close to the hold. The hold meant his escape.  
“Out…”  
Vulptex stopped dead in his tracks. There was that voice again. It was faint, distant, but it was there. He looked around. As before, there was no one to be seen, but then, in the dim, his eyeless sight spotted something. The glow was barely perceivable, but he couldn’t mistake its golden hue. It was coming from the crate. Using the light as a beacon, he followed the path – left, left, right, down, deeper and deeper into the veins of the frigate until he came to a dead end, blocked only by a rusted vent grate.  
Pushing it aside, he dropped down out of the shaft and looked around. To his unending relief, he found himself in the hold. The place was absolutely massive and stacked from floor to ceiling with hundreds of crates of illicit goods. He took a moment to marvel, feeling a tinge of envy. But he shook those thoughts from his mind and followed the light until he came upon his packages, still on their hover-cart.  
“Jackpot.”  
He pushed the cart towards the exit, the massive box weighing virtually nothing while supported by the repulsors. The hangar and his ship were on the other side of the blast doors. He hit the door controls and they began to open. No sooner had a gap opened between them then blaster fire came lancing through the opening. Ducking behind the crate, Vulptex groaned.  
“There’s nowhere to run, worm!” Queeg called, “We’ve got you trapped!”  
Vulptex glanced around the crate. Sure enough, the arachnid was there as well as perhaps twenty armed spacers, all of them standing between him and the Swiftsure. He ducked back behind the crate. To have come this far, only to be stopped so close to escape was infuriating.  
“Give up now, and I’ll make sure you die quickly, scum!” The Harch stomped a foot on the ground and the men gave a burst of blaster fire. As some of the bolts struck the crate, however, they ricocheted off, nearly taking the heads off the men who had fired them. Vulptex grinned to himself.  
“Back to improvising, it is.”  
He pulled the crates back into the hold a bit. The pirates paused, confused as to what he was doing. Then, with all his might, Vulptex put his shoulder into the crate and began pushing it, picking up speed until it was flying out of the hold.  
“Blast him!” Queeg howled.  
The pirates opened up, their bolts bouncing wildly off the crate’s hardened surface. Standing on the cart, Vulptex popped over the top, blasting pirates as he barreled towards the blockade. He put a few holes in some scoundrels and more than a few died at the hands of their own deflected shots. The firestorm of blaster bolts continued as he sailed past. He dropped the gangway of his ship and coasted up into the hold. The pirates that survived the assault kept up the barrage, but Vulptex quickly jammed the door control.  
“Get the tractor beam up! Don’t let him escape!” Queeg bellowed, clutching his blasted arm.  
Vulptex hauled himself into the captain’s seat and powered up the engines. Then, from deep within the ship, there came a bone-shaking rumble. All around, pipes began to burst and fire shot out from every vent. The lights all around flickered and died.  
“The reactor’s been breached! I can’t lock it down!” shrieked a voice over the intercom.  
“That’s my cue!” Vulptex said as he gunned the engines.  
The Swiftsure rocketed out of the hangar and back into space. Behind him, bright yellow explosions ruptured the frigate’s hull. It was on the verge of going critical and Vulptex did not want to be anywhere near it when it did. The navicomputer still showed the coordinates to Toydaria. He jerked the control stick back. The stars stretched out and the Swiftsure vanished just as the frigate disappeared in a massive fireball.


	2. The Slicer's Den

As the freighter dropped out of hyperspace just over Toydaria, Vulptex finally released his white-knuckled grip on the control yoke. Below, the mud-soaked swamp world spread before him like a green-brown marble. He looked around, half expecting another pirate frigate to warp in right in front of him. Though no such attack materialized, he didn’t let his guard down as he keyed the comm.  
“Wex? Hey, Wex! You there? I’ve got a bit of a situation.”  
The comm buzzed a moment, then a voice came through. “Wha? Huh buhh? Vulp, is that you, buddy?”  
“Yeah, Wex, I-.”  
“Vulp! It’s been forever! How the hell ya been?”  
“Wex, I really don’t have time to cha-.”  
“Why don’t ya come on down? I just redid the place and I finally got a second chair!”  
“Wex!” Vulptex snapped, practically tearing out a fistful of hair, “Will you can it for one second and let me finish?”  
There was a short pause before the Toydarian piped up again. “Yeesh, alright. No need to shout. Come on down. I’ll open up a bottle of Jawa juice.”  
“Alright. And get your slicing kit ready. I’ve got a doozy.”  
The smuggler killed the comm and nosed the Swiftsure into the atmosphere. The planet was one, massive, marsh of algae-cloaked lakes and mucky islands. He brought the ship in low, hugging the flat surface until he spotted a structure poking up from the otherwise razor-straight horizon. The house was small and circular, a narrow porch running around the edge and a jury-rigged tower on the roof, covered in all kinds of comm arrays and scanners. Beside it was a floating landing pad, just barely large enough for him to set the freighter down.  
Vulptex raised the cargo hold door and was immediately set upon by a cloud of gnats. He staggered about, swatting wildly at them until they dissipated. The door to the hut swung open and the Toydarian fluttered out on a pair of leathery wings.  
“Vulp! Long time, no see,” he called with a big-toothed grin, “Get in here, ya crazy gun-runner!”  
The smuggler didn’t waste a moment getting out of the soupy heat and insect swarms. He ducked through the doorway and into the outpost. It was a small place, to say the least; a single, central room with a few smaller ones sprouting off of it like spokes of a wheel. The living space was cluttered with all kinds of junk, boxes, and electronic components. A haphazardly-constructed computer suite sat in one corner – a half dozen screens connected to a few keyboards. Wex plucked a bottle of Jawa juice from the cool chest and poured a pair of glasses. He offered one to Vulptex, who took it and slumped down onto a crate. The slicer settled into a ratty bantha-hide chair and raised his glass.  
“To unexpected visits.”  
Vulptex let out a little, relieved chuckle, “To unexpected visits from friends.”  
“So how ya been? How’s the smuggler life treating ya?” Wex asked over the rim of his glass.  
Vulptex ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “I’ve been better, Wex. I’ve been better.”  
“Still not scoring the big contracts?”  
“Not exactly. It’s more like…I’ve got a contract that’s too big. Maybe. I don’t know.”  
Wex cocked an eyebrow and set the glass of liquor aside. “Too big? That doesn’t sound like the Vulp I know. ‘No job too big’. That’s always been your motto. What’s gives?”  
The man took a deep gulp of the bitter drink and then set the glass aside. “Syn contacted me a while ago regarding a big job. And I mean big, bigger than the last five jobs combined. I was supposed to transport two crates from Thalassia to Concord Dawn.”  
Wex downed his juice. “So far, so standard. Get to the interesting parts.”  
Vulptex frowned a bit. “I’m getting there. So anyway, these crates are armored and sealed tighter than the Coruscant Treasury and Syn refuses to let me see what’s inside them.”  
“And Syn knows your terms, right?” the Toydarian asked, his curiosity seemingly piqued.  
“Yes. And that’s just the start of the problems. My first jump took me to Yavin and while I was waiting for my hyperdrive to recycle, Captain Queeg pops out of hyperspace right in front of me and snaps me up like I was made of electrum!”  
Wex’s eyes widened and he set down his glass. “You’ve got to be kidding! The hell did he want??”  
“He wanted my cargo! And he wanted it in the worst way. I still don’t know how he knew I was carrying it and where I’d jump to.”  
“So how did ya get away?”  
Vulptex chuckled. “To make a long and slightly embarrassing story short, I overloaded his power core and blew up his frigate.”  
Wex stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. “Okay, now I know you’re making that up.”  
The smuggled laughed. “Oh, come on. Is it really that hard to believe that I might know what I’m doing?”  
“Yes.”  
“That was unnecessarily hurtful.”  
The slicer fluttered up from his seat and put the Jawa juice bottle back. “So, I assume ya came here for more than just a drink. What’s up?”  
“I need you to slice through the security protocols and unlock those crates,” Vulptex replied, “If the cargo’s going to get me killed, I have a right to know what I might be dying for.”  
Wex cracked his stubby knuckles and plopped down in his little ‘command’ chair. His computer screens flickered to life at his touch, displaying all manner of ill-gotten code and pirated Republic root kits. While the setup itself was thrown together out of whatever spare parts he could find, Vulptex knew that Wex was a master slicer.  
“Go get the crates and we can get started. Haven’t had a good challenge in a while.”  
The smuggler nodded and returned to his ship. In the hold, he paused, resting a hand on the crate. The glow was more powerful now than ever before.  
“Out!”  
This time, the voice did not frighten Vulptex. Instead, he activated the hover cart and rolled it out of the hold.  
“Soon.”  
As he brought the boxes into Wex’s slice-shop, the Toydarian flew up and began his inspection. He checked every inch of both packages, tapping at the surface, running a ray shield scanner over them, inspecting the access panels, and eyeballing every possible input port.  
“You were right. I’ve never seen encryption protocols like this before. Whatever’s inside there, they did ¬not want anyone peeking. Wonder what it could be…”  
“Well, whatever it is, it’s strong with the Force.”  
The slicer turned to him. “How do you- oh. Right. Miraluka. Think it might be Jedi stuff?”  
“I’d be willing to bet my bottom credit.”  
Wex began the tedious task of hooking up a battery of cables to the access consoles on the crates. “And what happens if they are full of Jedi junk?”  
“That depends. Can you reseal the crates so they won’t know I peeked?”  
“Not a chance. Once these come open, there’s no closing ‘em up again.”  
“Ah. Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just deliver it and hope the worst that happens is I don’t get paid,” Vulptex sighed, “How long do you think it’ll take you to open them?”  
“The little one will take an hour or two. The big one… That might take all night.”  
Vulptex nodded. “Then I’m going to hit the bunk. I haven’t slept in ages and after today, I need a good night’s sleep.”  
He turned and made his way towards the bedroom. Inside, he could see a short, circular bed. Perfect size for a Toydarian, but his legs would almost certainly dangle over the edge. He paused in the doorway.  
“Hey Wex,” she said, looking back to the slicer as he settled into his chair, “When you get the first one open, wake me up.”  
“You got it.”  
With that, the smuggler closed the bedroom door and laid down on the bunk. Suddenly, all the stress and strain of the past day came crashing down on him at once. His body felt heavy and his thoughts slowed. Before, sleep had eluded him, but now it was creeping up on him irresistibly. Then again, he wasn’t exactly fighting it. As he slid into slumber, the world around him faded away.  
All was black in his mind for a while. However, as hour ticked by on hour, the darkness grew brighter and a strange world began to form in his sleeping mind. It was a dream unlike any he’d had before. All around him was grey fog, fog that even his sight could not penetrate. His heart pounded, but he walked forward just the same, unable to stop himself. As the dream continued, the fog slowly receded, revealing a land of vast savannah beneath a starry night sky. All around him were low, rolling hills of tall grass, shifting and rippling under the caress of the cool breeze.  
“Why does this place feel so…familiar?” he muttered as he wandered through the fields.  
Something felt very off. He knew he had never laid eyes on such a place, yet somehow, he knew it. His feet trod a path forward as if he’d walked it a thousand times. Everything was unknown and yet somehow, he felt perfectly in place there. It was as if he had intruded on the dreams of another, as if he were living their misty memories in their place.  
Over hill and down rolling cleft he traveled, neither time nor distance wearying him, until along the darkened horizon, great shapes loomed. As he drew nearer, the formless, black silhouettes became titanic trees. Amid their meandering roots and up among their massive branches were huts and tents of all sizes, with fires crackling all about. In the dim, wavering light, he could see the trunks were carved with huge murals depicting a feline race he’d never seen before. The beings were engaged in all manner of pursuits, but the depictions that were most prominent were the ones of furious, glorious combat.  
As he wandered through the village, an unsettling feeling simmered in the pit of his stomach. The place looked as if it were inhabited, but the inhabitants were nowhere to be found. It was clear the place hadn’t been abandoned long ago. Bowls of food were set on tables with meat still roasting on spits over the fires. He searched through the huts, but found them all empty. Nothing seemed to be missing, save the people who lived there. No clothes were taken. Traveling chests were still empty and unmoved. Even jewelry of pearls and polished seed pods still sat where they belonged. It was as if whoever had lived here had simply ceased to be.  
His unease growing, Vulptex stepped out of the tent. However, as he brushed aside the door flap, he was greeted not by a sea of grass, but a sandy beach and an endless ocean from horizon to horizon. His heart was thundering in his chest. The scene filled him with a fear he could neither explain nor escape, but still his feet kept moving until he stood knee deep in the briny water. Tiny waves lapped at him and all seemed still. Then, high above, inky storm clouds started to gather with unnatural speed.  
Soon, the sky was afire with blinding lightning bolts and echoing with the crashing peals of thunder. The waves rose higher and higher, their whitecapped jaws gnashing and biting against the shore. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to run, but something held him in place, stronger than any chain. Then, between the thunderclaps came the shriek of blaster fire. The flashes of laser bolts soon matched the lightning. Terrified, Vulptex’s eyeless gaze shot to and fro, trying to spot anyone amid what he was sure was a raging battle. Then, the screaming began.  
The air was filled with a clamor of shrieks and howls that drowned out even the raging storm. The horrible choir of agony raked his mind with steel claws, tearing at his thoughts even as he tore at his ears to make it stop. He could feel his very soul corroding as pain and fear like he’d never imagined possible threatened to rip his sanity to shreds. Beneath his feet, the sea itself turned red as blood and bubbled and frothed to a boil. Death, pain, terror, despair. It was as if all of existence was writhing in its death throes. Unable to escape, Vulptex let out a wail as the roiling waves crashed down, drowning him.  
“STOP!” the man shrieked, flinging himself from the bunk and crashing to the floor.  
“Vulp? Vulp!” Wex stammered, cautiously reaching out to help hoist him up, “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
“A nightmare,” he panted, wiping the frigid sweat from his brow, “A horrible, horrible nightmare.”  
“Must’ve been. I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last hour.”  
Vulptex furrowed his brow. “It’s been that long?”  
Wex nodded and motioned for him to follow. “I get ‘em open.”  
“Both of them?” the smuggler asked as he returned to the common room, “Did you look inside?”  
The Toydarian shook his head. “I figured you’d want to be the one.”  
In the waiting room, the crates looked just as they had before, all except for the blinking, green lights on the access panels. Deciding to go for the safer bet first, he knelt before the small crate. He gently touched the open switch, but hesitated to put the necessary pressure on it to open.  
“Something wrong?” Wex asked.  
“Sorry. Just trying to shake off the jitters.”  
With that, he opened the crate. Inside was a device he’d never handled before – a strange, metallic cylinder about two feet long. The exterior had a few buttons and knobs, but nothing to indicate what is was. Vulptex gently lifted it from the crate and looked it over.  
“What is it?” asked Wex, perplexed, “Some kind of machine part?”  
“Not sure. Let’s just see what this little button does…”  
The instant he pressed the red button, two brilliant blades of yellow light shot out from either end, nearly skewering Vulptex in the process. He let out a yelp as he was nearly run through, dropping the device to the floor. The humming blades instantly vanished as it clattered on the ground and then remained silent.  
Wex’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. “Is that a…?”  
“It’s a lightsaber,” marveled Vulptex, “I knew it was some kind of Jedi stuff!”  
“Not like any lightsaber I’ve ever seen. And that doesn’t exactly break your terms, Vulp.”  
The smuggler rose, setting the lightsaber down on a nearby table, before inspecting the larger crate. This was the one he’d really be concerned with, for it still showed the same glow. If the small box contained something as unique as a lightsaber, the Force only knew what could be in the bigger one. Summoning up all his courage, he keyed the console and the crate fell open.  
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” he said, staring at what was inside.  
Wex nudged Vulptex. “Now that definitely violates your terms.”  
Inside was a block of carbonite and frozen within was a person. Every detail of her face and body were molded in the silvery substance. She stood, hands clasped in front of her, an oddly placid look on her close-eyed face. She was a humanoid. That much was obvious. But, Vulptex hadn’t seen a species quite like her. Her nose was slight flattened and her ears were pointed and feline. Even in the carbonite, he could tell her skin was covered in smooth fur.  
“Wex, get her out of there. I have a call to make.”  
The slicer nodded and began the unfreezing process. Meanwhile, the smuggler, pulled out his holocomm and sent out a call. A few, tense minutes later, Synergy’s emblem appeared and his crackling voice spoke up.  
“What is it, Vulptex? Have you delivered the cargo?”  
“No. No I haven’t delivered your cargo, you son of a bitch!” Vulptex spat, “I sliced into them-.”  
“You what?” the broker cut in, but the smuggler shouted him down.  
“Yeah, I broke them open and what do I find? Someone frozen in goddamn carbonite!”  
“You shouldn’t have-.”  
Vulptex had reached wit’s end. “Don’t you say another word! I nearly got killed because of this job and now I find out I’m transporting some kind of prisoner? I told you, Syn! I told you that I had one rule. I do not carry people who don’t want to be carried! I’m a smuggler, not some Zygerrian flesh-monger!”  
There was a long silence on the other end of the transmission. Then, the broker spoke up.  
“And what do you plan to do now?”  
“I’m going to do what I always do when someone breaks my rule. I’m confiscating the cargo.”  
“I would highly recommend against-.”  
Vulptex killed the comm. He’d had enough of being jerked around. Too frustrated to think clearly, he stormed over to the window and threw it open, hoping a little fresher air might calm him. Meanwhile, the woman had been thoroughly defrosted and Wex carefully peeled her out of the carbonite prison. She lay motionless on the floor, head on Wex’s lap as he tapped her cheek, unsure of exactly how to rouse her. Suddenly, her eyes snapped wide open, her pupils little more than black slits amid circles of amber. Before he could so much as yelp, Wex was hoisted into the air be some unseen power and flung across the room like a bit of trash.  
Hearing the crash behind him, Vulptex turned in time to see the woman raise a hand and the lightsaber flew into her grip, igniting into golden light. Still unsure of what was happening, the smuggler took a step toward her, but when she raised her free hand toward him, he stopped dead. It felt like a pair of massive hands had wrapped around his throat, squeezing down on his windpipe until he could barely wheeze. Then, he felt himself being lifted, his boots leaving the ground to kick about uselessly in the air.  
“Ah…p-please…ack! We’re not…” he rasped, becoming more lightheaded by the moment.  
“You will not have me so easily, Mandalorian scum!” the woman snarled.  
Raising her weapon, she aimed on of the humming blade at his chest. She cocked back her arm and Vulptex muttered a tiny prayer. Then, the woman suddenly staggered, her eyes rolling about unfocused.  
“What…What’s happening?” she groaned as her Force grip on the smuggler’s neck faded.  
The man collapsed to the floor, coughing and choking, trying to force precious air back into his lungs. Meanwhile, the woman wobbled like a drunkard, bumping into chairs and tables, her lightsaber slashing haphazard slices through whatever was close by. Her feline eyes rolled from one side to the other as she dropped to one knee. She planted a hand on the ground as if she meant to rise again. But her possible counterattack was cut short by the sharp smash of shattering glass. She let out a pitiful yelp as she pitched forward and collapsed in a heap. Behind her, Wex hovered in mid-air, the neck of the broken Jawa juice bottle in his trembling hand.  
“What the hell just happened,” the slicer stammered as he looked down at the woman.  
“I don’t know,” Vulptex replied, rubbing his bruised throat, “I think the hibernation sickness got the better of her.”  
“Well, what do we do with her now? Should we, you know…” Wex made a slashing motion across his throat.  
“Of course not! For one thing, she’s a Jedi. And for another, she’s an innocent bystander who lashed out in fear.”  
“Then what do you suggest?”  
“Do you have anything we can tie her up with?  
The Toydarian stroked his chins. “I have some high-temp conduit tape in the back. If it’ll hold a creaky hyperdrive together, it’ll hold her well enough.”  
Vulptex nodded and Wex flew off to fetch the tape. In the meantime, the smuggler carefully lifted the woman up and placed her in a wooden chair. It was the first time he managed to get a good look at her. She was about his height, perhaps a bit smaller. Her frame was slender all around and built of toned muscle. Her fur was a pale, golden yellow, save for around her face and the tips of her ears, where it faded to almost white. Her clothes were in tatters: old, brown bloodstains on it as well as crusted into her coat. When Wex returned, they quickly bound her to the chair, being careful to secure her arms and legs.  
“Get her some water,” Vulptex said as he gently tapped on her cheek, “And something to deal with that lump you gave her.”  
While Wex fetched a kolto-infused patch, he continued to try to rouse her. After a few more taps on the cheek, her eyes slowly fluttered open. It took a moment for them to focus, but when they did, she let out a snarl that sent the smuggler back a step.  
“Why you…” she growled before noticing she couldn’t move, “What the…How dare you! Release me immediately, you Mandalorian scum!”  
“Mandalorian?” Wex remarked, bandage in hand, “That hibernation sickness must be worse than I thought.”  
The Jedi twisted and jerked with all her might, but the metallic tape held her in place. When it became clear escape wasn’t an option, her brows furrowed and she bared her teeth, a low growl rumbling from within her chest.  
“Easy, now,” Vulptex said, pulling up a chair for himself just outside what he figured was the ‘danger zone’, “I am not a Mandalorian. I’m Miraluka. See?”  
He raised his veil, revealing the vestigial sockets where eyes should have been. This seemed to calm the Jedi, but only slightly.  
“If you are not Mandalorian, then who are you?”  
“You can call me Vulptex.”  
“Vulptex?” she muttered, cocking an eyebrow, “Like the little crystal creatures from Crait? What sort of name is that?”  
“It’s the name I go by and that’s all you need to know.”  
“So, you’re some kind of criminal, then. A slaver, perhaps?”  
Vulptex frowned, “I’m a lot of things. Smuggler, gun-runner, spice-trader, reprobate. But I am not a slaver.”  
“If that’s so, then why am I here, tied to a chair?”  
“Because you tried to kill us,” Wex cut in.  
“Oh, well then a thousand apologies. I just assumed that the people who would be unfreezing me would be the people who froze me in the first place!” she snapped.  
“Okay, okay. Look, I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot here,” the smuggler said, waving a hand for silence, “I’ll admit, I was assigned to bring you to Concord Dawn. However, I didn’t know you, or any being for that matter, was in the crates. I wasn’t supposed to open them.”  
The Jedi narrowed her gaze, “Curiosity is not a trait most would consider a good thing in a smuggler.”  
Vulptex leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got me pegged there. And I wouldn’t have opened the crates at all had I not been hearing voices coming from inside them. I can assume that was you?”  
The woman’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “You actually heard me calling through the Force?”  
“Heard you? It was like you were shouting right into my ear!”  
“That…was not meant for you.”  
Vulptex let out a little, weary chuckle, “I figured.”  
“So, if you don’t plan on handing me over to the Mandalorians, what do you plan on doing with me?”  
“I…haven’t exactly figured that part out yet,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “For now, how about you just tell me who and what you are.”  
“Of course. Could you at least cut me loose, first? Seems only polite.”  
“You promise you’re not going to try to strangle me with the Force or turn my head inside out or something?”  
The woman let out a little laugh. “Inside out? Really? Okay, okay. I promise not to do anything, up to and including turning your head inside out.”  
Vulptex drew the vibro-dagger from his boot, but Wex yanked him aside.  
“Are you seriously going to trust her?” he whispered rather loudly, “She tried to kill us both once already.”  
“Hey, she promised. And I heard Jedi can’t break a promise.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah, it’s in their code or something.”  
“I can hear you, you know,” the woman called, rocking the chair a little to remind them she was still stuck to it.  
Vulptex sighed and turned back to her. A few flicks of his vibro-dagger and the tape was cut away. The woman rubbed her wrists and stood. She held herself with a confidence that was easy to see. Pride, honor, self-assurance. He could tell it all just from how she carried herself. Clearly, she was not run-of-the-mill Jedi. She raised her hand again and the smuggler flinched, but her lightsaber simply leapt back into her grip, before she latched it in place across the small of her back.  
“And?” he said.  
The woman gave a little, respectful bow. “I am Selithari, Knight and Shadow of the Jedi Order. And as for what I am, as you so bluntly put it, I am a Cathar.”  
“A what?” Wex cut in, “Vulp, what the hell’s she talking about?”  
But Vulptex said nothing. His jaw hung open slightly. The Toydarian gave him a confused nudge.  
“But how?” he murmured, awestruck, “The Cathar were wiped out by the Mandalorians centuries ago.”  
Selithari’s brow furrowed at the word ‘Mandalorian’. “Not all of us perished in the genocide. We are a strong, proud race of warriors. That was why those helmeted scum targeted us, but that is also why we have survived.”  
“I see. That’s incredible,” Vulptex chuckled, sitting down at the table, “So, if you don’t mind me asking. How did you end up in this little predicament?”  
“I would rather not say…”  
Wex, having found another, intact bottle of Jawa juice, let out a little laugh. “No need to be embarrassed. Vulp here’s the king of getting himself into idiotic situations.”  
“Hey! I do not ‘get myself into’ idiotic situations,” the man fired back, “Idiotic situations keep getting foisted on me! Like this whole contract! No offense.”  
“None taken,” Selithari replied as Wex passed her a glass of liquor, “If you must know, I was on my way to an assignment in the Outer Rim when my ship was attacked by pirates. Most of my crew was killed and I was taken prisoner.”  
“A couple of pirates managed to overwhelm a Jedi?” Wex said between gulps, “I thought you guys were invincible with all that magic mumbo-jumbo.”  
Selithari frowned. “The Force is not mumbo-jumbo. And it was not ‘a couple of pirates’. It was close to a hundred. We Jedi are strong, but we are not all-powerful. Anyway, what I was able to gather before I was placed in carbonite was that I was specifically targeted – that someone had put a bounty on my head.”  
“Oh. Yikes,” Vulptex hissed through his teeth.  
“From what I picked up, it was some Mandalorian warlord.”  
“What would a Mandalorian warlord want with a Jedi?” the slicer asked.  
“I assume it was one of two reasons. Either he was going to hang me on his wall like a trophy – a Cathar and a Jedi. Or he was planning on making me his slave.”  
Vulptex’s body tensed at the mention of slavery. “Well, then I guess it was your lucky day that you got picked up by the one smuggler who won’t move slaves.”  
Selithari’s lips turned up into an ever so subtle smile. “Luck is an illusion. The Force guided me to you so that you could free me. And I’m grateful for that.”  
“You’re welcome, then,” Vulptex said, rising from his seat and setting his glass aside, “But right now, I think we could all use some shut-eye. Tomorrow, we’ll take you to a nearby system and drop you off. You can make your way back to Republic space from there.”  
As he turned to walk away, he felt a clawed hand grip his shoulder. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but certainly enough for him to stop. Glancing back, he saw he serious expression on the Cathar’s face and immediately knew he was not going to like what she was about to say.  
“I still have a mission. I need you to take me to Korriban.”  
“Korri-what? Look, Seli, I want to help you out, but I am not taxi service.”  
“If you take me there, I’m sure Master Darach will give you a fine reward.”  
“Oh no no no. If there are other Jedi there, I’m not coming with a thousand parsecs of that place!”  
Selithari continued to press, “But why?”  
The man whipped around, brushing her hand off his shoulder. She seemed taken aback by his sudden turn to anger.  
“Why? Because, if you recall, I am a smuggler. I’m wanted in quite a few places. I show up to some system crawling with Jedi and I’m as good as arrested.”  
“Please!” she blurted out, “I promise I will not let them arrest you.”  
Vulptex stopped. He looked her over. The high-shouldered confidence had faded. Her face pleaded with him ad much as her voice had. To someone like her, someone for whom pride must have been of the highest importance, to ask for help must have been excruciating. He could see the shame in her eyes.  
“Is that a Jedi promise?”  
“I swear on my honor as a Jedi and a Cathar.”  
He groaned. His brain was telling him this was another one of those ‘idiotic situations’ Wex had mentioned, but much as it got him into trouble, he still had a heart.  
“Damn it… Fine. I’ll take you Korriban or wherever. But I expect to get paid handsomely. I lost a lot of credits by breaking you out, after all.”  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Selithari said with a smile.  
“Good. Now if everyone will excuse me, I have been trying to get a decent night’s sleep for days. Wex, if you need me, I’ll be on the ship.”  
The Toydarian nodded and motioned for Selithari to follow him. “C’mon. I got a folding cot in the closet.”  
With that settled, Vulptex left the house and slogged back through the clouds of flies to the Swiftsure.  
“Mind if I join you?”  
The smuggler turned to see the Cathar walking up behind him.  
“Was Wex’s palace not to your liking?”  
She chuckled as she followed him up the gangway. “I’m not a fan of how muggy it is in there. You know, fur and all that.”  
“Fair enough. Although I don’t have a second bed.”  
“That’s fine. I’m not in a sleeping mood.”  
The woman turned and entered the now empty cargo hold. She walked to the center of the room and sat down, legs crossed and hands laying placidly in her lap. She slowly closed her eyes and drew a soft, cleansing breath. Vulptex pulled up an empty munitions crate and sat back to watch. He wasn’t sure anything was going to happen, but he wanted to see it if something did. Nothing did. All the Jedi did was sit there, eyes closed and breathing measured.  
“You’re a very strange fellow, Vulptex,” she said suddenly, her eyes staying shut, “You’re a smuggler, and by all rights, I ought to drag you before a Republic tribunal. You openly admit to gun running, drug smuggling, and all manner of other crimes, yet you walk around as if your prohibition on moving slaves makes you somehow more noble than a normal criminal.”  
“I like to think it does,” he said, leaning back and resting his hands behind his head.  
“But you’re not,” she continued, “You destroy lives all the same. The only difference, it seems, is that you’d rather not have to look your victims in the face.”  
“So, you’ve got it all figured out, eh?” he chuckled bitterly, “I should’ve expected a Jedi to only see things in black and white. And for the record, you have no idea why I do and don’t do what I do.”  
“When it comes to harming others, why doesn’t matter.”  
“And I’m sure that lightsaber of yours is just meant to stun, right?” he scoffed as he rose and made his way back towards the cabin, “And when it comes to harming others, why is the only thing that matters.”


End file.
